


Collecting all the pieces of you - #IneffableValentines2020 prompt 19 - whatever you like (free choice prompt)

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Series: Ineffable Valentines 2020 [29]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: #ineffableValentines2020, 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Ineffable Valentines (Good Omens), Ineffable Valentines 2020 (Good Omens), M/M, Plot Twists, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Valentines, Worried Crowley (Good Omens), ineffable valentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Stick with it and please don’t hate me, this isn’t going to turn out how you expect, there’s always a happy ending.Crowley is desperate for his angel’s love, he’s never been able to have it, so he’s made do with other ways of imagining what it would be like.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Valentines 2020 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618783
Comments: 33
Kudos: 132
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	Collecting all the pieces of you - #IneffableValentines2020 prompt 19 - whatever you like (free choice prompt)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miele_Petite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miele_Petite/gifts).



Crowley knew he could never have his angel. He could have his friendship, in little doses, small sneaked moments of contrived excuses to spend time together. But too much would attract attention, heighten the risk of discovery that could doom them both. To keep his love safe, he had to keep him at a safe distance. For thousands of years, he took little sips of angelic affection and relished what he could get. 

It was never enough. But it was all he could risk. 

But he’d found ways to ease the hurt a little. Weirdly, his job, and his nature, what he’d been turned into by hell, gave him the answer for a while. He’d been given a more attractive corporation than the average demon, and tasked with temptations, which sometimes included seductions. He didn’t want to do it, but it was part of who he was, his responsibilities, and he had little choice. So he figured he might as well make the best of it. 

He resolved to at least be a gentleman about it, to do a good job of things. There were worse demons out there who didn’t care as much about humans as he did. If he could take responsibility for this, then maybe hell would let him get on with it, and keep the worse perpetrators in hell and away from the humans. So he did as he was told. He tempted and seduced, used his skills to ensnare, used his powers of lust to entrap humans into desiring him, and sinning. 

It was a job. He wished it could be his angel, but that was never going to be, so he took what he could get. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine. He could imagine that it was someone else. 

Then he was given a target that set it all in motion. A beautiful blonde haired scholar in his late 40s. They twined in the dark of his study, surrounded by piles of dusty scrolls, togas discarded on the floor. And Crowley was as close as he’d ever felt to his truest desire. 

He’d cried afterwards. Once he was well away from the house of course. He had loved it and hated it in equal measure. But it had planted a seed. He needed more. So he decided to combine work and pleasure to try to find some weak facsimile of what he truly needed, to at least take the edge off his raging desires for what he couldn’t have.

He went through the list of the most memorable ones, the pieces that stuck in his mind, of the thousands over the years. He had picked it apart time after time, dissected every encounter into tiny component pieces and studied them minutely to find what made him cave in and choose that one, that person, that time, why?

That one had his eyes, this one his hair, the other one his smile, the list went on: his lips, his hands, his calves, his stature, his way of walking, his way of talking, his love of literature, his love of fine food, his interest in the theatre, his style of clothing. Each one was a tiny aspect of his angel, but none of them came close. Perhaps over time he’d been trying to build up a replica of the sensation, of what it might feel like, piece by piece, like a jigsaw puzzle.

There had even been one or two who had tried to love him like his angel, they lacked the other physical criteria, but they had been warm, fond, caring, giving, wanting to share of themselves more than Crowley wanted them to. But he selfishly allowed them to anyway, for a short time. In a pale imitation of the real thing. He pretended. For a week or two, or a month or so at most, he allowed them to try, and tried to allow himself to pretend to accept it. The smiles, the kisses, the warm embraces, the whispered words of affection.

But it hurt too much. They would never ever be his angel. Despite the temporary warmth of being enfolded in gentle arms, with love pouring through the contact, he hated himself for it. He could never love them back. He could receive it, but never return it, and he knew he could only hurt them. So he hurt them. Disappeared, ripped the plaster off for them before he let them get too invested, left them heartbroken for sure, but better that than allow anything more.

So sometimes in the night, he’d amalgamate the memories, the touch of that one, the words of the other, the smile, the caresses, the eyes, the hair, the skin, and yes, the love. Mesh them all together in his mind and push them into a mental mould the shape of his angel. Imagine what it would be like for that stroke on skin to come from _that_ hand, with _that_ smile, from _his_ angel. And he’d give in to the self-pleasure that accompanied those thoughts, then sob into his pillow in disgust at himself afterwards. At least until next time, because there was always a next time.

Every time his angel extended him some tiny fragment of affection, the right look or word, he’d hurry home and add it to the collection of memories to mix together into fodder for his baser desires, and hate himself even more for sullying the holy image of his love, for degrading his pure angel within the confines of his own mind.

So he’d known what a loving touch from another could feel like, but it wasn’t complete when it was only one sided, them trying to love him, with nothing felt in return. He craved that same gentleness from his angel. He longed to feel _those_ soft fingers skimming over his body, _those_ lips pressing kisses to his skin. He burned for it. 

Of course Aziraphale knew what Crowley’s job entailed. He wasn’t naïve. He tried to ignore it, but deep down, it hurt a little. He knew that was something he could never have. Why should he begrudge his friend a little pleasure? He didn’t own the demon, there was no place for judgement between them. Crowley tried to hide it from him, but once or twice he’d seen him with one of his conquests. 

The angel, of course, never noticed that each of them tended to carry at least one or two traits in common with himself.

* * *

Crowley didn’t have a job any more. Neither of them did. And this made things more awkward. Because he could no longer justify carrying on with his previous activities and pretending they were anything to do with work. He ached for some tender touch, anything to relieve his frustration, just a warm embrace he could lose himself in for a while. It didn’t even need to be sex, he just craved contact. Just lying there and cuddling would be enough for him right now. 

He’d got so used to filling that void in his soul with human contact that he was bereft without it. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to seek it out again, he was torn between his love for Aziraphale, and his need for contact to keep him sane. 

It took him some time to realise that the only option now was to seek it out with Aziraphale at last, but that thought was terrifying. He couldn’t deal with it, he was thinking himself in circles and hating himself, in a self destructive spiral of confusion. 

Then he’d relented. He spotted the blonde hair first. Nearly white, soft curls in a veritable halo around her head. A bag full of books in one hand, cup of tea in the other. Eyes that same oceanic blue-grey-green as his angel. Beautiful soft thighs. She looked like he’d imagine Aziraphale might in feminine form. She was breathtaking. He was weak. He couldn’t resist. 

He took a seat on the next table on the pavement outside the cafe where he spied her. Ordered a coffee, flipped out his newspaper and lounged back. It all came so naturally. He observed from the corner of his eye that she’d noticed him and he heard the soft indrawn gasp of breath as she did. That was even before he’d allowed his aura of lustful temptation to seep out in her direction. He clearly didn’t need to. He was enough as he was. That fact alone at least made him feel a little better about himself. He allowed a little smile to spread across his features as he feigned ignorance of her presence at first, pretending to read the paper. 

She broke the silence first. “Excuse me, would you mind terribly passing me the sugar?” She even spoke like the angel. She indicated the little container full of sugar packets on his table. Crowley glanced up at the book in her hands and grinned as he replied, passing the dish over. “Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service.”

Her eyes flew wide at Crowely’s words. He winked. “The Tempest, not one of my favourites, but he always did have a word for every occasion.” She laid the copy she had been reading down on the table with a shy smile, and stirred the sugar into her tea, biting her lip. Crowley bided his time, he returned to his paper. No pressure. He did notice that she kept stealing glances at him. And, from behind the safety of his glasses, so did he. 

She even had a similar fashion sense to Aziraphale, muted beige and cream shades. A fawn skirt below the knee, sensible shoes, pale cream blouse and beige cardigan over an ample soft bosom. It was too much. After a little while Crowley stood to fetch himself another coffee. He paused by her table. “May I get you another tea?” he asked gently. Her captivating blue eyes met his in coy surprise. 

“Oh, oh, yes, that would be lovely thank you d… thank you.” she finished, covering her mouth behind her hand shyly. 

Crowley returned with two cups. Laid one down in front of her, and placed a hand on the spare chair, one eyebrow raised in silent question. She smiled and nodded. Crowley sat down next to her and sipped his coffee companionably. Something felt familiar and right. It shouldn’t, but it did. He wanted to hate that fact, but instead he embraced it. He needed something, and he had an opportunity here to ease the pain in his soul for a little while, so he decided to take it. He bit down on his misgivings. 

She gave her name as Astred. They chatted about literature. Crowley knew more than he ever let on to Aziraphale, mainly because he took an interest in anything his angel enjoyed. He could turn his charm to most topics with ease anyway. That Astred was into similar things that his angel was just made things easier. They went for a walk. She suggested the park. Crowley hesitated, but then there wouldn’t be much reason for Aziraphale to be there without him, so he pushed his hesitation aside and took her arm. 

It felt right, and it felt so very wrong. If only he’d have been able to meet this one when he was still under hell’s orders, it would have felt easier. She was too close to what he desired, and it didn’t sit easily with him. But two parts of his brain were at war, because it was also what he craved, what he needed right now. He carried on.

They went around a museum, taking in the art. Crowley was able to expound on many of the more ancient artworks with a knowledge borne of years of experience. Hell, he’d known some of the artists. At least the one he’d posed for wasn’t in this particular museum, that could have raised awkward questions. He’d asked her to call him Crowley rather than Anthony, because it sounded so perfect coming from her lips. He could imagine Aziraphale saying it in those awed tones, and his spine tingled at the thought. 

Then in the gardens outside the museum she’d shown an interest in the plants, she’d known their names and he’d utterly melted at that point. It was too much. He’d asked if she’d like to come and see his plants. It might have been a cheesy line, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even have to drop in any demonic temptation into the words at all for her to happily and enthusiastically say yes. He hadn’t had to do any tempting whatsoever all day. 

When they got to the Bentley Astred opened the door and got in before he even got there to open it for her. He shrugged and made his way to the driver’s door, unlocking it and slipping behind the wheel. Something nagged in his mind but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He put the Bentley in gear and pulled away, sticking to a normal human speed. He could glimpse her in his peripheral vision stealing glances at him, and reached out tentatively with one hand to gently brush up her thigh. She let out a soft gasp and bit her lip, her blue eyes darting across to him with a mixture of uncertain want and shyness. Crowley didn’t push it any further than that single touch for now, and concentrated on driving instead. 

They arrived at his apartment block and walked in together. Crowley laid his hand gently around her waist, feeling her heart beating nervously rapid. She twiddled with her bag as they ascended in the lift, her head low, beautiful eyes framed by long pretty lashes, tugging at Crowley’s libido. 

They stepped into his flat and Astred gasped appreciatively at the spacious elegant living area. She wandered through the plant room, her fingers gently caressing the odd leaf. “Such beautiful plants, you must really care for them” she cooed. Crowley snorted. “Don’t talk to them like that, it’ll go to their heads.” She gave him a funny look, but he grinned back. “Can’t be too nice to them, got to give them something to strive for, after all. Anyway, fancy a cuppa? Or some wine?”

“Oh, some wine would be nice, yes please.”

Crowley nodded and indicated the sofa. “Grab a seat, back in a tic.”

Astred settled herself down and placed her bag to one side, watching his every move. Crowley slunk back to the sofa and passed her a glass of white wine, then sat down next to her and took a swig of his own. He sat back and observed her. She really was stunningly beautiful. She sipped at her wine, and then set her glass on the coffee table and her eyes met his face. She bit her lip again in a most endearing fashion, seemingly steeling herself with an internal struggle. 

Crowley set his glass aside and stilled. His mind was whirling. He’d done this thousands of times before, so why was he nervous now? It felt weird. Astred had evidently made up her mind. She lifted her head with a look of calm determination, then lifted her hand to touch Crowley’s cheek, her touch electric on his desperate skin. She leant forward to kiss him….

Crowley couldn’t.

He lurched backwards away from her, shaking his head. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t.”

She looked crestfallen and twitched back, her hands coming up in front of her body as if ashamed, he saw her expression crumple and tears begin to well up in her eyes. It broke him. 

“Astred, please, I’m sorry, it’s not you, truly it isn’t, you’re beautiful, love, you’re gorgeous, anyone would be proud to have you, but I’m not for you, I’m sorry to have led you on, you deserve better than this. I can’t do it. I love someone else, and I shouldn’t be doing this with you.”

Her gaze met his, confused and hurt, but there was something else in that expression. “You’re with someone else?”

Crowley looked pained. “Yes. No. Sort of, I don’t know, I’m sorry. It’s complicated. I love someone else, I’m in love with him, but he doesn’t know it, I can’t have him, I can’t tell him how I feel, but even though I’m not with him, kissing you would feel like cheating on him, and you deserve better than a night of meaningless sex with someone who can never truly love you. You’re too special for that, you’re beautiful and wonderful, you’re kind and soft, you’re…”

Crowley gazed at her, rapt. 

“...You’re too much like him.”

She stared at him. 

_She had opened the door of the Bentley_ **_before_ ** _Crowley had unlocked it for her._

He stared at her. 

“You’re…”

She smiled shyly at him. “Love hath made thee a tame snake”

Crowley gaped at her. “ _As you like it_ , act 4, scene 3.”

She nodded.

“Aziraphale?”

She nodded again.

“Why?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I sometimes take this form, I have work I do where people feel more comfortable with me looking like this. I volunteer at a women’s shelter, I help out, bring in books for the library and suchlike. I didn’t expect to bump into you, but when I did, I just decided to see where it would go.”

Crowley struggled to get his head around it all. 

“I’m so sorry, Angel, I didn’t mean to flirt with her, with you, well… I … I guess I did mean to flirt with _you_ , but I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t know what I was doing. I gave it all up after hell washed their hands of me. But I just… I couldn’t have you, I was so used to having some kind of substitute intimacy that was a stand-in for the real thing, it was barely enough but it was _something_ . But after I didn’t have a job any more it just felt wrong, I stopped, but it hurt so much. To be near you and unable to touch you. I wasn’t strong enough, I caved in. And you… well you look so much like … _you_.” 

Aziraphale took another drink of her wine and watched him sympathetically. “I’m sorry too, Crowley, it was cruel of me to tempt you, to flirt back with you, but I couldn’t help it either. I thought you didn’t want me, but that if I could have you like this, without you knowing, it might be all I could get.” 

She looked pained. Crowley had shrunk back from her when she tried to kiss him, which was, she supposed, understandable, but he hadn’t come back closer since he’d realised who she was. She was still hurt. Crowley could see that hurt on her face. 

“Oh, Aziraphale, please, dove, don’t look like that. I backed off not because you’re not gorgeous, you are, but because I didn’t know it was you, I thought I was about to, well, I guess _cheat_ on you, and I couldn’t go through with it. You’re beautiful to me in any form, Angel. It’s all just a bit much to take in. I never knew you wanted me too.”

Aziraphale laid one hand on his knee and lifted the other to his shades, pausing. He gave a little nod and she pulled them off, meeting his gaze. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Crowley, I didn’t know how much you loved me back. May I try again?”

Crowley nodded mutely. Aziraphale leant forwards and kissed him. His arms wrapped around her beautifully soft body and they melted together. He’d finally got all the pieces together. He had his angel, all of her.

* * *

  
(Astred = “divine strength”)


End file.
